Inertia: Impulse, Book One Read online

Derrick shrugged awkwardly under her regard. “Being alone’s worked for me this long. Don’t see any reason why it shouldn’t still.”

  Miss Ingrid frowned. “Some people are made to be alone. Others, I think, are not. I suppose no one but you can say which group you belong to. I would think it would be hard, to have a taste of something, and then give it up again.”

  Derrick looked away. “Better that than getting involved in something I just can’t deal with, or letting someone rely on me when I can’t….”

  “But then you rob yourself of moments of joy you might have had.” She sighed, and patted his hand. “Stay here.”

  She left and came back with one of the framed arrays of photos that hung in her hallway. She laid it on the table beside his empty plate, pointing. Derrick looked closely at the blurry old photograph. He recognized the beautiful teenage girl as Miss Ingrid, but not the plainer, more severe-looking girl she stood beside.

  “That is Vilma. In this picture I was perhaps fourteen? And she was seventeen. She was my girlhood friend. When my parents died, her family welcomed me to live with them and help with their farm. We spent every day together. We walked to school together, we did our chores together. Hers was a small house, so we shared a room, slept in the same bed. We were never apart.

  “No one knew, of course, what we did. How we felt. In our day one would never discuss such a thing. There was no thought of us spending our lives together. We knew we would be expected to find husbands and live as other women, and while she might have been brave enough to defy that convention, I was not. I think her parents began to suspect. When the Soviets bombed our town—they claimed it was an accident, but they had a couple of such “accidents” during the war—our home was irreparably damaged. Her parents decided to take her with them to live with other relatives in Stockholm, and they made it clear that I was not welcome to come. From the age of sixteen on, I had to make my own way. I never told anyone. Not the other women in my life for whom I felt… something. Not even Josef, God rest his soul.”

  “I’m sorry, Miss Ingrid. Sorry that happened to you. Sorry you had to… live that way. I’m sorry.”

  “I did not tell you for your pity,” she snapped. She pulled the picture frame away almost protectively and laid it on the other end of the table. “I do not regret a single day of what happened. I do not even regret losing her, or never finding her again. The separation was painful, but inevitable. What mattered was the time we had together. Those are the memories I cherish. For a short time as a young woman, I had something beautiful and precious and thrilling. Something I would never have in quite the same way again. Something which taught me who I was. Whatever happened after, even the loss, my life would be less if I had not had that. On the day I die, my only regret would be if I hadn’t had it. If I had been too much a coward to take it while I had the chance.”

  Derrick swallowed hard, toying with the handle of his coffee cup. “I don’t think I’m as brave as you, ma’am.”

  She shrugged, her expression understanding, but not necessarily approving. “That is the choice for you to make, of course. You will avoid sorrow, certainly, but you will also deprive yourself of joy. For as long as I’ve known you—except perhaps those horrible years when your grandparents were ill—you’ve been a very complacent young man. Your grandmother once told me you were the still waters that run deep, and so you are. Always calm and serene; never a complaint or even a bad mood. You go out of your way to take care of others even when it means depriving yourself. You need little and ask for nothing. Your life is a peaceful one, but I’m not sure it’s a happy one. Only you can say, of course, but I have seen your home. You live surrounded by the past and think little of the future. And perhaps that is all you need. If you feel contentment is enough for you, then take that if it is what you want. Just ask yourself, when you are my age and looking back on your life—what will your regrets be? And do you fear them more?”

  Did he?

  None of the rest of his jobs that week were as demanding as Miss Ingrid’s shingles. Mostly he handled minor repair jobs. A furnace that needed to be replaced before winter. A garage door opener and garbage disposal installed. Doors hung. Baseboards replaced.

  He worked with his customary mild-mannered professionalism, offering his clients a mellow smile and a polite handshake. But the work left him far too much time to think.

  Your life is a peaceful one, but I’m not sure it’s a happy one.

  Neither was he, not anymore. He’d believed it was, until recently. He liked his peace, his calm, his stability. But now it all felt lacking; a sense of discontent had been growing inside him since he’d let himself notice Gavin.

  By Thursday afternoon, anxiety crept back in. When he got home, he took Chelsea to the park and played chase and fetch and Frisbee with her until they both collapsed on the grass panting. He couldn’t be bothered to cook when they returned to the house, impulsively ordering take-out for the first time in years.

  When he’d finished dinner, he attempted to sit down and work on his billing, but at the top of the pile were the notes from the last job he’d done for Gavin before their date. Sighing, he tore the page from his day planner and tossed it into the waste bin. He couldn’t send Gavin a bill now, not after what had happened.

  Unable to concentrate on anything else, he went down to the basement and lifted weights until he hit muscle failure. He lay there panting on the weight bench until his arms stopped trembling before dragging himself upstairs to the shower, pausing for a long moment to look thoughtfully at the kitchen phone.

  I won’t call him. I won’t.

  He couldn’t put himself in a position to go through that again, to watch another person sicken and die, to lose….

  … someone who mattered to him.

  Friday morning, Devon called to cancel their plans to meet for beers. Hannah was ill with a nasty summer cold, and he decided to stay home to pamper her. Derrick wished Hannah a speedy recovery and hung up.

  Shit. He leaned against the kitchen wall and let his head thud back against it. After several long, slow breaths, he collected himself and went about his day.

  He spent the early evening fidgeting in front of the TV with Chelsea. He tried going to bed just after sunset, but he lay staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep. When he stopped himself from reaching for the bedside phone, he swore and dressed quickly, slamming out of the house to his truck.

  I’m not going to see him.

  He went east on I-696 from Ferndale, rather than continuing north to Royal Oak where Gavin lived. He took the highway to the far side of Detroit before heading south on I-94 toward Detroit itself. He opened the window to the muggy night air and turned up Skynyrd on the radio full blast. After a few minutes, he turned it off again. Instead of lifting his mood, the noise simply annoyed him.

  It’s not right. Wouldn’t be fair to go to him. Not until you know whether you can take it, or not, if he turns out to be HIV positive.

  West, then, on I-96, heading for I-275. He looked at the clock in his dash. Besides, it’s after eleven o’clock. It’s too damn late to call or go see him.

  North along I-275 back toward I-696.

  It’s Friday, man. Who cares how late it is?

  Could he do it? Could he take the risk of coming to care for someone whom he might have to watch die someday?

  Assuming quite a bit there, aren’t you? You don’t know if you’ll be with him in three weeks, much less three years, or thirty years.

  East on I-696. The dash clock read eleven-thirty.

  If you’re gonna go, do it now.

  His exit. Gavin’s exit. South toward home, or north, to Gavin.

  His heart beginning to race, he turned north.

  He sat in the truck in the parking garage, staring at the clock.

  11:45. You’re already being rude, showing up this late. Go inside or leave.

  He opened the door and stepped out of the truck, his palms sweating. On the elevator ride up, he drew slow,
even breaths, trying to find his equilibrium.

  He wondered if he looked anywhere near as panicky as he felt as he walked the few yards to Gavin’s door. He wiped his palms on his jeans and made himself do it. The rap of his knuckles on the door sounded brutally loud in the silent corridor.

  The door opened and Gavin stood there, pale and weary. Surprised. Confused. Wary. He smelled like cigarettes and beer.

  They stared at each other as Derrick tried to find a way to breathe. His chest was too tight, the pounding of his own heart too loud, too fast.

  He opened his mouth, his voice barely more than a raspy whisper.

  “I’m sorry. Gav. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Please….”

  Gavin swallowed.

  He deserved a damn good explanation, Derrick thought, frustration edging in on his nervousness. He deserved groveling and a long talk about what had happened and why.

  But his words were gone, buried beneath a tide of too much. Too much feeling. Too much need. Too much remorse. Too much fear. His mouth worked uselessly, trying to force something out.

  Too much. He couldn’t. He couldn’t.

  Instead, he stepped forward and hooked a hand behind the back of Gavin’s neck, drawing him into a desperate kiss, and prayed it would be enough for what words couldn’t say.

  HE DIDN’T KNOW HOW he ended up pressing Gavin back against the wall. It wasn’t intentional. He half-expected Gavin to throw him out on his ass, but instead, Gavin just… Well, he wasn’t sure what it was Gavin did, but when he took a step forward, Gavin’s arms came around him, and then they were against the wall. Somewhere on the edge of his consciousness, the door slammed closed.

  Gavin tasted just as good as he had before, smelled just as good. His body felt just as perfect. He buried his hands in Derrick’s hair, his grip tightening, pulling, and that was perfect, too. Derrick pressed against him harder, moaning into his mouth.

  The wanting was every bit as intense as it had been before; they both shook with it. Hard in their jeans, they moved together, seeking more contact. Hot, open, panting, his mouth met with Gavin’s again and again. Polite decorum was discarded; they weren’t tentatively feeling the way forward. He made no effort not to fuck Gavin’s mouth with his tongue, and let Gavin fuck his in return.

  Gavin shoved his hand into Derrick’s back pocket and jerked him closer. Derrick shuddered, going still at the feel of Gavin’s hand on his ass. He pulled his mouth away from Gavin’s, his breath rapid. His hips, however, missed the memo that he was trying to slow down and continued to rock against Gavin.

  He wanted Gavin. It was just that simple. Like a dam bursting, a flood of need surged through him. He was drowning and he knew it. He wanted to sink under and let the current take him, and at the same time push up to the surface, to catch his breath and escape the danger.

  His hands shook as he held Gavin’s waist.

  “Are you all right?” Gavin murmured, and Derrick drew back to look at him. How could Gavin even ask him that, after what he’d done? Why had Gavin even let him—

  He swallowed hard, nodding, looking at Gavin with concern. “I, um… I should be asking you that. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have just charged in like that. Without checking if you— I mean, I couldn’t blame you if you didn’t want this. If you’d rather we stop, or if you want me to leave, or if you wanna go someplace neutral to talk, I can do that. I don’t wanna use this to make it all better. That’s not what I’m here for.”

  Gavin looked stricken for a moment. And then he shook his head, closing his eyes. “No. Not yet. We’ll talk later.”

  He wanted to accept that. He wanted to kiss Gavin again and forget all about the other shit, but the miasma of beer stopped him.

  “How much have you had to drink?”

  “I’m fine. I’ve only had a few, and most of those were a few hours ago.”

  Derrick drew a deep breath, nodding, and the shaking of his hands resumed as they moved up and down Gavin’s waist unconsciously. “I’m not sure what… I mean, I don’t… I’ve never….” He drew back to meet Gavin’s gaze again, feeling the tension in his eyes and forehead. He wondered if he looked anywhere near as terrified as he felt.

  “What do you want?” Gavin murmured, his lips brushing across Derrick’s. His hand relaxed in Derrick’s hair, stroking down to the back of his neck, soothing him.

  His hands tightened on Gavin’s waist, and he licked his lips, struggling to speak even those simple words. It had been so easy last weekend, when he hadn’t had to say it, when it had just been Gavin’s body straddling his, grinding down against him, moving toward exactly what he needed and couldn’t find the words to request.

  “This,” he whispered at last. “This. Here. You. Please….”

  The moment seemed to draw out forever, as they stood there with their foreheads touching, breathing together. Gavin’s hand tightened in his back pocket. Gavin’s open mouth slanted across Derrick’s, his tongue sliding over Derrick’s lips. Then Derrick’s back was against the wall. Gavin pinned him, ground against him, as Gavin’s knowledge took over where Derrick’s desperation had begun.

  Gavin jerked his t-shirt out of his jeans and shoved it up. Cool conditioned air brushed his skin, and Gavin’s touch slid over his abdomen.

  So long… so damn long…. It had been forever since he’d been touched that way. For that matter, he wasn’t sure he’d ever been touched the way Gavin touched him, as though the feel of his skin was not only good, but vital. As though Gavin’s fingers craved him. The sensitive skin of his stomach twitched, ticklish for a moment as his senses tried to remember what the hands of another person felt like.

  “Fuck,” Gavin whispered, pushing impatiently at Derrick’s shirt. “Please. I want to touch you.”

  He drew back enough to tug his shirt over his head and let it fall to the floor. Gavin’s hands swept over his skin, kneading his flesh as if he’d never felt another body before. He drew Gavin by the back of his neck into a rough, hungry kiss. It lasted only a moment, a violent clash of lips and tongues, and then Gavin pulled away and jerked his own shirt off, tossing it aside with a muffled clatter, his glasses trapped somewhere within its folds.

  If Gavin’s touch had been good, the press of his bare chest was even better. He could feel the race of Gavin’s pulse under his thumb where it rested just under Gavin’s jaw, telling him his need and fear and the inescapable sense of crossing the point of no return was shared. Gavin’s grasp and gliding fingers were everywhere; on Derrick’s back, his shoulders, his ass. Groping, squeezing, kneading.

  Gavin drew back enough to murmur against his mouth. “Come on.” He took Derrick’s hand and drew him down the hall to the first door. He kissed Derrick again, tender and cautious, and when he drew back, there was a silent question in his eyes.

  “I want to do this. I want to feel this.” His hand cupped the swell of Derrick’s erection through his jeans. Derrick licked his lips and nodded. He pushed forward into Gavin’s palm, watching Gavin’s face. After a moment, his eyes drifted shut, accompanied by a moan, and Gavin urged him down onto the bed..

  The bed. It was far easier to give himself over to the flow of kisses and touches than it was to sit there, understanding what he wanted, his determination edged with fear. Not of what they were about to do, but of what it might mean.

  Still, he bent over and removed his work-boots and socks, pressing on. As Gavin approached, Derrick scooted back, taking a deep breath and reaching down to unbuckle his belt.

  “Come on, leave something for me to do,” Gavin scolded with a playful chuckle, pushing Derrick down and straddling him. Derrick moaned as Gavin deliberately moved. “I want to have some fun, too. It’s like opening a present.”

  Derrick laughed, his head rolling back and his body jerking underneath Gavin’s. Gavin gave him a delighted grin, the same one he used when Derrick reacted to his flirtations.

  “That was… really cheesy.”

  Gavin chuckled. “Maybe, but it’s also true.” Bef
ore Derrick could decide whether or not to laugh at that, Gavin kissed him roughly. Derrick’s hands explored his skin, the ridges of his ribs, the arch of his spine. When Gavin gripped his hair again, he lost all interest in banter.

  He watched as Gavin drew away to dig in the drawer of the bedside table for a strip of condoms and a bottle of lube. Strangely, his nerves had abated. He felt calm, his fear receding as he blinked up at Gavin. Eager and accepting, he welcomed Gavin’s weight back upon him when he’d tossed the condoms on the bed.

  Gavin’s hands and mouth began to move. His teeth nipped and scraped Derrick’s neck. Derrick’s fingers dug into the flesh of his shoulders, then slid up into Gavin’s short hair. His restless fingers pressed against Gavin’s scalp, massaging.

  Gavin lay upon him, between Derrick’s thighs instead of straddling him. That was even better. More of his weight covered Derrick’s body; the pressure of their erections rubbing against each other increased.

  And then Gavin moved lower, pausing to do things to Derrick’s nipples that made him arch off the bed. Everywhere, Gavin’s mouth and hands nipped and sucked, licked and stroked. He moved aside; his hand replaced his hips. It cupped and stroked through Derrick’s jeans until Derrick was ready to beg him to just get on with it already.

  He heard Gavin’s breath hitch when he finally, finally opened Derrick’s jeans and eased them down his hips with his underwear. Gavin’s fingers ghosted along his dick, encircling it. He slid the foreskin up and over the ridge and traced it with an experimental fingertip. Derrick groaned, pushing up into that grasp, trying to take control of the surge of sensation that, coupled with the anticipation and the arousal, threatened humiliating consequences.

  To both Derrick’s relief and agonized disappointment, Gavin eased off almost before he’d begun. He grabbed a condom from the strip and tore the wrapper open, putting a little lube inside the tip before rolling it down Derrick’s cock. Derrick didn’t know whether or be grateful or crestfallen when the sensation of Gavin’s stroking hand was muted to something manageable, but then it didn’t matter because Gavin bent his head and took Derrick’s dick into his mouth.